


A Soul Bristled in None

by alternage



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: :))), Alternate Universe - Inktale (Undertale), F/M, Inktale Sans (Undertale), as in i dont know it but lets hope its good, i dont want to spoil too much abt this fic in the tags so ;), ink's gonna be a little pervy jackass eventually in this fic bc thats how i like em so., the plot writes itself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-10-22 16:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17666258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternage/pseuds/alternage
Summary: One day, during a commission for a unique painting style, you meet a skeleton. His name is Ink.One day, that skeleton decides to touch your soul.Can you see where this is going?





	1. Touch

You remember when you first met him.

  


_Being a freelance artist, you had the wonderful benefit of working from home. Of course, that’s not to say you could simply laze about in your pajamas and expect to make money at a swipe of a brush, but it was a benefit nonetheless. Though you specialized in digital painting, you were also quite skilled in (and also working on) many other areas of the field._

_Ink wash painting had been one of the things you were working on._

_You hadn’t done this out of the blue. One of your clients had wanted a traditional work in this style, and although you were little familiar with it, your interest had been piqued. So you worked out a price, and did what you had to do._

_Once again, although you were very little familiar with the concept of Ink wash painting, you were also very little sure a skeleton was supposed to come into the equation somewhere. You… weren’t even commissioned to paint a skeleton, what the hell._

  


That day was a hectic one, the ruined painting and clothing otherwise. After your understandable freak-out (since when could monsters just pop out anywhere other than a mountain?), your uneasy eyes had asked the fellow who he was. His reply was simple.

  


_“Oh uh, I’m Ink. Hello!” The skeleton’s, Ink’s, eye(socket)s glanced around your work space, taking in the watery black mess that licked upon it. You took the time to garner a look at him, noticing immediately the oversized brush that Ink donned, as well as his overcomplicated (yet somehow stainless) outfit. It was only after you noticed he was staring at you._

_“Pretty cool outfit, huh? I made it myself!”_

_Sure, you let him think that. It... did look nice overall, but the sheer amount of layers he’d had to be wearing at the time made you sweat by itself._

_“You, ha, haven’t spoken a word to me since I’ve tumbled in.” Oh, you hadn’t._

  


And so then you introduced yourself, explained who you were and what you were doing, and if you hadn’t noticed his affiliation with art by his name alone, you had at that moment.

It was actually quite nice of him to help you clean up, and though you were still wondering what the hell just happened at the time, you chalked it up to the fact that he was a monster, and, well, magic.

For some reason though, Ink had seemed to saw something in you that day. Because he kept coming back, and coming back, and eventually it was a normal part of your day to have Ink occupy some room in your house.

And that was what led you to today. You had set aside a day off for yourself, and as usual, Ink was there to spend it with you.

“I still can’t believe you haven’t touched your art supplies at _all_ today.” You were laid down on the couch, your head resting on Ink’s lap comfortably. The lad was still getting used to the fact that sometimes you didn’t want to draw.

Your eyes glued to the TV, you grunt out an noncommittal noise. “Says the one who’s constantly got his strapped to him.” You lift a hand, drawing a finger towards the pale, dark cerulean sash that hangs off his shoulder. A moment of befuddlement comes across Ink’s face, before being washed out by a high chuckle.

“What, these?” He pulls out one of the many paint vials, cradling it between two bony fingers. “Nah, I don’t paint with these.” Ink lightly drums your forehead with his other hand. “I mean, I could, but that’d be a gigantic waste. Watch.” You obey, lifting your head out of his lap and shifting backwards a little bit. With a smirk you realized just a bit too late, Ink flicks open the cap to the vial, which you notice has green paint inside. As soon as you do, though, Ink flips the capsule over like a shot glass, downing the liquid like it’s rum.

“...”

Your lips open, but no sound comes out.

In one brief motion, you tumble your body forwards in an attempt to grab the vial out of his hands so he’ll stop acting like a damn idiot, only to overestimate Ink’s handling and jab his arm forwards.

Oh. He wasn’t actually jugging the paint.

…You realize when the liquid is now actually down his throat.

“SHIT, INK!” You pull back immediately, thinking you probably look owlish with the pure dread that’s on your face. Ink slowly pulls back his hand, looking at the once full vial. And then a glance towards you. And now his mouth is opening, oh god, he’s gonna be pissed.

You brace yourself for words, but all that comes out are heartfelt laughs of joy.

What?

Ink’s eyelights, which were usually everchanging and random, were now green swirly circles. In both sockets. You don’t know how bad you fucked up, but you know you just did.

“Oh, darn, haha! Tcheheh, Guess that vial’s empty now, huhhh?” Ink’s slurring his words, and has the happy grin of a two year old receiving a free birthday cake. He laughs, placing his vial back into its pocket.

“Uhm, Ink, are you…” He definitely wouldn’t be this happy if he wasn’t okay, but you still have a distinct feeling something was… off.

He looks at you, his grin becoming even larger, and before you can even process it, his arms are wrapped around you, and he’s nuzzling you like a cat. “Oh, of course I am! I mean, ha, that was definitely a bad move on your part and probably not the smartest move on mine, but it’ll be okayyy!” God, Ink does have a hold.

“Ink - kuh, you’re, kinda - squeez _ingh_ \- _”_

Your chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself. How strong is this skeleton, holy shit? You seriously aren’t able to breathe right now, and a sudden pain in your chest causes you to cry out.

It’s at once that Ink releases his squeeze on you, looking at you with confusion in his eyes. “Oh, did I hurt you? My bad!”

You’re still trying to catch your breath, but the pain in your chest (your soul, you realize) only lingers, like with one more press you’d collapse. “Hold on, lemme see how bad it was -”

Before you could question him, you feel a tug on your soul, and then it’s out in between the two of you, its rich color sucking all other light out of the room, leaving your vision black and white. Ink’s wide, curious eyes examine your soul, and then you hear an appraising hum.

“Nahh, it should be fine. You’ll just need some good ol’ monster food!”

“Okay, could you end the encounter now? I, uh, spare you and all that.”

Ink is still staring at your soul with the same wonder in his eyes as before, his skull coming even closer.

“Now, please.”

“Yeah, hold on, though.” Ink lifts up his hand, and slowly inches it towards the culmination of your being, a look of joyous curiosity etching into him. “I wonder…” His fingers finally rest an inch apart from your soul, and then just like that they close the gap.

It’s all you see before your vision fades.

  
  
  


Black. No, not black, dark red.

Your eyelids feel like they’re glued stuck, but you slowly shift yourself upwards - you’re on the ground, it feels like - and harshly rub your eyes with your fingers. Ahh, that feels good.

Wait a minute. You’re on the ground. Why are you on the ground?

Waittt.

“Ink?” You can only manage out a weak groan, you feel so exhausted. Why are you so exhausted? Well, you know why, but what the hell did Ink do with your soul to make you feel like this? You didn’t even know people could _touch_ each other’s souls in an encounter.

You groan and finally take in your surroundings. Ink, as much as a jerk he could be, actually made a small little blanket padding for you to rest on. No pillow, but he’s getting somewhere, you guess. Huh. If you feel like shit, you can only wonder how Ink’s feeling. Monsters are more in tune to their souls, or so you heard, so what could make you pass out…

Yeah, you really need to make sure he’s okay. The sudden burst of clarity rushes you up, before the sudden burst of your head crashes you right down. Maybe you’ll also get some pain meds.

  


A careful walk towards the kitchen later, you’re finally able to down some pills for your faint but nasty headache. Sadly not immediately effective like some of the recent monster medication, but… eh, you’ll make do with what you have. No use longing after what you don’t have.

With your headache taken care of for now, off you were to find Ink. While sometimes he did just disappear (bizarrely enough, his gigantic brush also acted as a portal), it was never as sudden as this.

“Inkkk?”

No answer.

  


After a short while of searching, you end up not finding him anywhere.

Huh. Well, it was getting late anyways, and since you were still a bit exhausted from earlier, you guess you might as well go to bed.

 

...Yeah. Bed time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I said I could always bend the rules a little bit, didn't I?
> 
> Please don't expect a good update schedule. I wanna write this just as much as I wanna read this, trust me. 
> 
> Also, I apologize in advance for how shitty I am at writing long chapters. You see why I stick to one-shots?


	2. Squeeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ink's gone for a while, and when he comes back, he's acting weird.
> 
> Weirder than normal, anyways.

It’s nearly a week before you see Ink again.

It’s not like him to take that long to visit you again, and yeah, sure, you _guess_ he’s a busy guy, but… you feel a bit weird, ever since he touched your soul. Not weird as in different, but you were worried about him. So you were pleasantly shocked to wake up one morning with Ink in your room.

“Oh!” You jolt a bit when you notice him, but you’re more concerned over him than the fact that he’s in your room. Well, at the moment. You hurriedly scoot out of your bed to inspect him. “Ink, where have you _been?_ Do you know how worried I was, you running off like that?” The skeleton in question seems a bit unkempt, which was unusual for him. With close examination, you can just barely make out what appears to be bags under his eyes. You swear they have a rainbow tint to them. That’s strangely beautiful, wow.

“Oh, yeah. S-sorry for that. Uh.” Is that a… blush? _Rainbow blush?_ A usual chuckle runs out of him, and though you feel a bit relieved at that, you still notice the nervous tint to it. “Ha, I dunno why I’m even getting bothered by this...” Ink’s shoulders are stiff, and you also can’t help but notice how nervous he seems in general. He’s… never been like this, before.

“Bothered by what…?” You still have no idea what could make Ink act like this. He was usually as casual as one could be, nothing ever seemed to bother him.

“You’re not wearing any pants, ya know.”

....Uh, yeah you are? Sure, the shorts you have on are lightweight and thin, but you’d rather die than wear jeans to bed. Just to make sure though… yeah, you definitely are wearing shorts.

“I… am? You’re the one who decided to come in my room, dude.” Ink happens to be staring at your shorts, you just then notice, and you’re a little put off by it. “You’ve literally never said anything about my clothing before, what’s wrong with me now?”

His eyes shoot towards yours. “Nothing! Nothing’s wrong with you, it’s -” A hand clamps over his mouth, and he takes a moment to breathe in deeply, and then lets it out. “I know I’ve been gone for a long time, ‘s just...”

And just like that, Ink’s staring off into space again. “What was I talking about?”

You’ll never get used to his horrid memory.

You clasp a hand to your face and sigh. “Nothing, Ink. You’re just being weird.” You playfully smirk, and peek out between your fingers. “Like usual.” Ink squints his eyes and pouts, but you can still see the smile he’s (probably) trying to hide. “Anyways. I gotta change really quick.”

Ink stays put. “Ink.”

“Yeah?”

“Get outta my room, dude.”

“Why?”

“I need to change?” Your tone is exasperated, sure, but you don’t see how he’s not getting the hint.

Ink simply shrugs, eyes still on you. “I don’t mind.” You know he doesn’t care about that stuff, he’s a _skeleton_ , but… 

“Well I do. So get out.”

 

You end up having to push Ink out of your room. 

Once you get changed for the day, you unlock your door and head out, only to bump into Ink, who was right outside of it.

You sigh. You feel like you’re gonna have a long day.

 

* * *

  


Ink’s been following you all. Day. Long. 

It’s not him being in the same room that’s bothering you, it’s him somehow managing to always touch you. It’s not really even strict touching, just him brushing against you, sitting next to you, hell, when you went to the bathroom, he was standing right outside the door like he did when you changed. His presence doesn’t bother you, you’ve just never seen him this clingy. Usually he just does his own thing around your house.

You’re sitting on the couch, tablet in hand, when you suddenly feel Ink pick you up and place you in his lap.

“Ink, what the fuck.” You attempt to get up, but he’s hugging your midriff, clinging you to himself.

“Noooo, stayyy,” Ink whines into your neck.

You hiss out a breath from your struggle. “Ink, why are you so clingy today?” First he’s completely cold, not showing up for practically the entire week, and now he refuses to have you out of his reach - quite literally, in this situation.

“Mmf.” His face is practically buried in your neck at this point. What gives? The last time you saw him you -

Oh. _Oh._

“Does this have to do with you touching my soul last week?” The arms wrapped around you went limp for nearly a second, before burying into your soft skin once again.

“Ink.” Ink lifts his head out of your neck, before setting it on your shoulder.

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did. I woke up passed out on the floor.”

You can’t see his face from your angle, but you assume he’s thinking based on how silent he is.

“Then... I guess? You’ve smelled really good all day. I mean, you’ve always smelled good, but it’s… never really affected me this much.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Usually monsters have sex with their souls, and I guess that by touching yours, I… kinda did? I don’t exactly remember the gist of it and stuff, just the basics. I’m guessing we have some kinda soul bond now, but I don’t even have a soul.”

That’s a lot of information at once.

“...So basically we had soul sex and now you’re in some kind of bond with me.”

“Yep.” Ink says, popping the P.

And wait, what was that last part again?  
  
“What do you mean you don’t have a soul? Every monster has one…?” Right? You’ve never actually got to know one before Ink, so…

“Every monster and human, yes. But I don’t,” Ink lifts his head off your shoulder and scooches your body towards him, but not before deeply breathing in your neck’s scent. Creep.

“Without a soul, I can’t feel emotions like joy or anger. But that’s what these vials are for,” He grips his vial sash with a hand. “They let me feel emotions. But I’ve never actually felt… whatever I feel right now. I think it’s love, but I can’t be sure, especially when I don’t even use a vial for it.”

You stare off into the corner of your eye in thought.

For one thing, Ink has basically told you that he raped your soul. You don’t feel violated, thankfully, but definition wise…

Another thing is the fact that Ink has no soul and can’t feel emotions, but that somehow, in whatever he did to you, he is. And he thinks he’s in love with you now?

“What does it feel like, exactly?”

Ink furrows his bone-brows in concentration. “Like… I want to be near you all the time, constantly. Your scent makes me want to do anything and everything to you, it’s so sweet it could kill me,” Ink wraps his arm around your waist again, hand firmly on your side. “I don’t know, that’s just what I could describe. It’s way more complicated than that.” The corner of his mouth lifts into a soft smirk you’ve never seen on him before. “I might not know what I’m feeling, but I know I don’t want to stop feeling it. Or you. You feel so soft and squishy, heh heh,” Ink says, and squeezes one of your boobs.

You let out a startled squeak, and slap his hand away. “Don’t touch me there, Ink!” You manage to make it out of his hold this time, and stand up a little bit away from the couch.

“Pftt, okay, geez! Stars though, your face was priceless.”

His words do nothing to extinguish the fire that’s starting to burn in you.

“You can come back in my lap now.”

“Not until you apologize, Ink.” Not even if he apologizes, maybe.

“Okay, I’m sorry, can you sit down now?”

Huffing out your aggravation, you sit back down on the couch and go back to working on your tablet, next to a pouting Ink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's hope I can do well plot-wise too :^D
> 
> Also, sorry for any unrealistic job activities. I'm tryin'.


	3. Poke (1.5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ink wakes up to find you passed out, and smelling good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry it took this long!! Barely 2000 words too. I hope you guys like this chapter!  
> Can you smell the half-baked plot? (:

Mesmerizing.

Glowing.

Touch, and then…

Ink can’t remember.

He has always had a terrible, absolutely abysmal, memory. Were he not actually trying to remember what happened before he woke up, he would probably be laughing at himself. But after a moment, Ink realizes he already is. Bubbles and bubbles of laughter keep popping out of his mouth, it’s just so funny! He can’t even rely on his own memory for clarification, and sure it’s objectively bad for him, but he’s so used to that particular quirk of his that he stopped bothering with any small annoyance it gave him long ago, and now he’s grasping at the couch cushions trying not to fall over from laughter, and, wait. How did he even get on a couch?

Ink takes a moment to survey his surroundings, small giggles escaping him. Oh yeah, he’s at your house. He’s been coming over here for quite awhile now. It’s quite odd that your meeting is one of the few things he actually can’t _forget_. Gah, him and his spontaneous memory. Ink snorts, and starts laughing again. He’s having so much fun, and he isn’t even doing anything! In fact, he must’ve taken a paint vial or something, and a quick inspection confirms his suspicions. The green vial’s paint is completely gone. Empty. And as much artificial fun as Ink’s having right now, he’s not able to think straight this giddy.

Ink places the empty green vial in its pocket, and then retrieves the blue one. It wasn’t often he had to do this, countering one vial with another, but he doesn’t know why or if he even had a reason for downing an entire vial. A little goes a long way.

He unscrews the vial’s cap, and then carefully sips its blue paint. The radiant joy dims down into a moderately somber apathy, and though this isn’t the careless neutrality he’s used to, it’ll have to do for now. He takes a moment to sigh, and is immediately overwhelmed with a sharp, sweet scent.

This is new.

Ink blinks. Once, twice. Then inhales through his nasal bone. The thick, succulent must nearly slaps him once more, and it’s at this point Ink’s curiosity is piqued. What in the multiverse could smell so alluring? It only takes a second to pinpoint it, the smell, to you.

But wait. That’s strange.

Besides the fact that it took him until _now_ to realize your slumped position, body nearly halfway off the couch, it’s also that you smell so _good._ He’s never noticed, or at least he’s never remembered, you smelling this tempting before.

…Tempting. Haha, that was a particular word to use. But it was the closest way he could describe your scent. Ink gets up from the couch, inching closer to carefully inspect you. The way you’re laying down right now can’t be comfortable. Or good for your back.

Hm.

What’s a skeleton to do?

Well, for him, the obvious answer is to simply pick you up and set you on the ground.

So Ink does exactly that (He may be a bit lacking in terms of height, but at least he’s strong), with a bonus blanket for comfort.

And then as soon as he gently places you on the blanketed ground, he’s once again up close to you in order to find out just _why_ you smell so darn good. Wasn’t everyday he got to inspect a human, either. Ink smirks, and gets to investigating.

Poke, poke.

Sniff.

Poke, more pokes.

Sniff. Sniff.

 _Sniffff_.

Oh man, yeah. You smell good. Really good. Is this that thing humans use? Perfume? Why is your smell such a prevalent thought in his mind right now? Ink doesn’t know. But… it’s not like he necessarily minds? He feels really good right now. It’s natural that he’d want to feel good, right?

Ink pokes at your thigh a few more times, grateful for your soft leggings. He doesn’t see you in them often, but they’re particularly useful in this situation, and give great access to your soft flesh.

…Well, it’s not like Ink is natural in himself. He has no soul. That’s like the fundamental part of every monster. Hm, whatever. He has his vials, of course. And Dream’s aura…

Speaking of which, Ink hasn’t actually gone back to the Doodlesphere yet. Dream might start wondering what’s taking him so long.

_But…_

Ink looks at your face, taking in its relaxed form. You look so peaceful in your sleep. He sighs, and once again captures a taste of your dizzying succulent odor.

He’ll just try one more thing, and then he’ll go. Ink slowly leans towards your face, and takes another deep breath. Your face isn’t where the smell is most potent though, so what…

His eyelights dart to your shoulders. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

Ink moves his head to nearly touch them, and with a deep inhale it’s then that your tantalizing smell makes way to his nasal bone and nearly blinds him with its intensity. A small whine builds into his throat, and as his sockets clench, Ink can barely suppress the resulting moan.

His sockets snap open, and he can barely think before he pulls himself away from your body, his zygomatic arches heating up with magic. Every bone in Ink’s body feels like it’s on _fire_ right now and he doesn’t know what’s happening —   _he needs to mark you_ — what is he thinking, what is going on, okay, he needs to _breathe._

_Breathe._

Ink’s phalanges clench at his scarf in attempt to calm himself. It’s been forever since he’s had to do a breathing exercise like this, and his bonebrows furrow at the hazy memories. It was before he had his vials, before he could even…

Sheesh, yeah, he’s calmed down a bit. But there’s still a dull flame in his body, and it takes Ink a moment to notice the sudden dense heat of magic that’s pooled in between his pelvis.

…Maybe he should leave now.

 

 

* * *

 

“Your bones… were on fire?”

“Not literally, I mean. Just, they felt like it.”

Ink watches Dream’s bonebrows crease, the other’s phalanges gripping his chin in thought. The two of them are currently on one of the Doodlesphere’s many islands, though this particular island is one of the main isles. It’s much larger than a usual AU’s island, and out of its medium plain spouts a thick wooded tree, trunk thick enough to lean against, with shade perfect enough for the two of them to relax under. Dream and Ink sit beside each other, ruminating on Ink’s day.

Back at your house, as soon as Ink had noticed the shaft he’d subconsciously formed, he almost immediately hopped back into the Doodlesphere. It didn’t help that he felt an almost compulsion to… _shoot._ He forgot, but he _knows_ he wrote it down on his scarf. He’ll have to check it later.

The mental residue of the blue paint has mostly faded by now, so Ink was back to his usual nonchalance, though perhaps a bit more peppy due to his friend’s aura.

“And this is what you’ve been getting up to recently? In, which AU was it now…” Ink didn’t have the chance to answer. “Ah! It’s the Swap one, right?”

Ink nods his head in confirmation, and a teasing smile works onto Dream’s face. “Something’s got to be interesting enough for you to take the time and effort to go into the same exact timeline though, right? I know how you are, Ink.”

Ink chuckles. “Sure, sure. I guess,” Dream’s right, he’s been with Ink long enough to get at least a glimpse of how he works, and part of that is an everlasting search for something he can indulge in. And, yeah. Ink supposes you’re interesting.

Ink snaps out of his thoughts when Dream hums, and when he looks, bright, yellow eyelights laced in concern are focused on his face. “What?”

“I just don’t understand… you’re sure you don’t remember anything before you woke up?”

“Yep,”

“And it was a smell that made you feel that way?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Huh...“ Dream muses. Ink’s starting to get bored. Maybe he should check out a new AU? Maybe a Creator needed help? That or he could always just draw in his sketchbook. One of the many benefits of his visits to you is the inspiration that comes to him during so. “What was the smell coming from, exactly?”

Ink froze.

“Uh,” He never actually told Dream about you.

Ink fidgets with some grass his hand’s resting in.

It wasn’t like you were his dirty little secret or anything, Ink just never talked about you.

…Hm. He probably should. That, and Ink would _much_ rather discuss anything besides the smell potent enough for his ectomagic to form. “So ya know how I keep going to the Swap ‘verse, right?” This probably isn’t as subtle as he’s hoping. Fake it ‘til he makes it?

“Oh, yeah?” Dream sounds aware of the sudden topic change, but for whatever reason, doesn’t question it.

“Well, it’s mostly because of this human I met. I, uh, ended up falling out of this one ink painting she was doing. Probably meant to hop out of the AU?” Ink shrugs. “Don’t remember why I came there in the first place.”

“Which Swap timeline is it?”

Ink undoes his scarf enough to where he can read, in bold Arial font, “Swap T4618P,” and then readjusts it to wrap snugly around his neck again. “Wonder what I’d be doing in there, specifically…”

Dream’s lips (Ink has no idea what else to call them) purse, and his body tenses just a little bit. “I remember you saying a while ago that a timeline felt ‘off’ to you… could that of been it?” Ink’s bonebrows furrow. That’s right, he realizes, he _has_ been getting these strange pulses in his magic lately. Whereas usually monsters felt pain, and generally felt, through their souls, Ink hasn’t one. Instead, the complete raw energy of his magic is what sustains him. As strong as it is though, his magic isn’t powerful enough to accomplish such a feat alone. The majority of Ink’s strength came from creativity itself. The Creators’, precisely.

As his magic (and permanence itself) thrives off creativity, Ink could only describe these recent pulses as depleting. Like a wave of catastrophic emptiness washed over him at once.

What Ink is without his vials.

He’s thankful for Dream’s aura, or Ink would’ve probably spent time mulling the nothingness over.

“Ah, so have you found out the cause of it, then?”

Ink realizes that he probably got distracted with you back there, just by a little bit. He feels distracted right now, actually. What did Dream say again?

“IIIInk.”

Ink stares at Dream with dumbfoundedness. Dream stares back, deadpan.

“ _Ink._ ”

“Uh.”

Dream pinches his nasal bone with a resigned sigh. “As a being of pure positivity, Ink, you can _really_ wear me out sometimes,” Dream folds his arms in his lap, then shakes his head. “That human sure must be interesting to make you forget what you’re supposed to be doing for _this long_. You’re lucky we exist outside of time, Ink, or I’d chastise you twice as many days it took.”

Ink snickers. “I sure am. And yeah, heh heh, she is interesting! Her smell, too,” and right after that does Ink realize what he just said.

“Ohhh, is that where the smell comes from?” Dream looks too intrigued to be swayed from the topic now, his sockets wide and mouth agape in wonder. Ink mentally curses himself, and he’s not one to curse.

“Uh, yeah.”

“What does she smell like, exactly?”

A familiar warmth of rainbow rises onto Ink’s zygomatic arches. “Mm, like. This uh, really sweet… floral scent? I-I don’t know exactly, it makes me kind of dizzy just thinking about it.”

Dream snickers, and Ink’s surprised to see a light yellow blush fade in on his face, too.

“Oh, so it’s like _that_ ,” and then Dream’s snickering abruptly stops. “Wait, but you don’t have a soul —  Uh. I,” his face grows worrisome, and then Dream guiltily looks to the side. “Sorry, I mean, it’s just —”

“Yeah, I don’t. You’re right,” Ink slumps forward. How _can_ he get all hot and bothered over you, then? “So I have no idea how or why I felt that way.”

Dream just hums in response, looking absorbed in his own thoughts as well. “Well… our main priority should probably be finding the source of your magic fluctuations. Maybe then we can figure that whole scent mess out afterwards?”

Ink nods, “Yeah, that’s pretty reasonable. I still wanna visit the human girl time to time, though, okay?”

“Ink, you can do that _after_ _!_ ” Dream whines.

Ink merely pouts in response. Whatever, Dream _was_ technically right.

And, hey.

…Maybe he’ll be able to work out the new familiar yet frustrating impulsiveness he feels dancing in his bones, swirled with the dizzying desire for your _sweet sweet_ scent, a muddling concoction that Ink for the love of stars can not figure out.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I said I could always bend the rules a little bit, didn't I?
> 
> Please don't expect a good update schedule. I wanna write this just as much as I wanna read this, trust me. 
> 
> Also, I apologize in advance for how shitty I am at writing long chapters. You see why I stick to one-shots?


End file.
